breath-breaks

the snow, I shovel

the lawn, I cut

the face, I shave

the table, I set

the windows, I somewhat wash

the breath, 

I occasionally catch myself taking

the objects of my attention

the beads, I cross with prayer

the blinks, I rarely notice

what, in the cross hairs of awareness, 

really matters?

there must be crosshairs more meaningful

objectification has its shortcomings

why have a self residence for this?

I feel punished with details

it's like a self of me that nags

I think I wanted to be a prairie 

and not so much a person

I still like long views

as if that is my identity 

reflected in a mirror

I'm thinking run-on-sentences

is the story of my life

where punctuation is a disability

and I don't take breath-breaks from it

in my mind . . .